


Souvenir

by missdibley



Series: Oh My Oakley [6]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Unrelated (2007)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Smut, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen and Oakley's last day in Oxford is cold and wet. While it doesn't dampen their heat, will it put out their fire for once and for all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man in Pembroke Square

It was the last day of the program.

Tomorrow hired tour buses would appear to haul the Americans off to Gatwick or Heathrow so they could fly home, while the few native Brits like Oakley who'd attended would find their own way home or wait for their parents to collect them.

A few of us had paid an extra $1000 for a week in Paris, hosted by a sister program whose staff and chaperones would show us the sights, teach us about art and history, and hopefully let us have a little table wine with our evening meals.

When I had gotten my grant for summer study, I asked the headmistress if I could go to Paris as well. I remember her leaning against a bookcase in the upper school office, looking for all the world like a Queen Elizabeth impersonator while she sipped delicately from a cup of tea.

"Well, dear, if you didn't take this opportunity, we'd be very disappointed." She nodded at the portrait of the school's founder as she spoke.

And then she instructed her secretary to write out a new tuition check with the extra money, to go into the packet the school was sending on my behalf.

"Mrs. Hathaway?"

"Yes, dear."

"May I take the same flight with Jennie Corcoran? She's going, too."

"Wonderful. Of course you may."

"She's flying business class on British Airways."

Mrs. Hathaway frowned at me.

"Helen, dear, a girl's first transatlantic flight should always be a magical experience. But maybe not quite that magical." She smiled, patted my cheek, then withdrew into the inner chamber of her office no doubt to terrorize alumni into donating more money to the school.

I skipped back to homeroom, grateful for the month in Oxford, the week in Paris - all time that I could spend far, far away from my family, and count down the months until I could go away to college, and leave them behind for good.

* * *

"This fucking rain!"

Oakley yelled after me as we ran through narrow streets, him huffing and puffing under the weight of his knapsack. He was barefoot, holding a pair of Adidas slides in his hands.

"But it feels so good!" I couldn't help laughing.

I was cold and wet but I felt awake, the rain having finally broken the heat and humidity that had sat on Oxford for the last week. The hoodie I'd thrown over myself did little to cover up my dress which, being soaked, was practically transparent. I hadn't worn a bra since the second night Oakley and I were together. I could feel rainwater squish into the toes of my Tretorns, which probably needed a good wash anyway.

Oakley crashed into me, pinning me to the Pembroke College gate so he could kiss me. His mouth was hot, his tongue forceful and alive in my mouth. He dropped the slides so he could wrap me in his arms, the weight of his bag pushing him down and closer into me.

"Oak," I moaned. "Can't you wait until we get upstairs and you could put down your bag? I can't believe you're already packed up."

"It's our last night, dear." He kissed my ear. "Where else would I be but..."

"In my tiny little room, with the cold water sink and the funny window seat? The threadbare carpet and that awful mattress that makes far too much noise when you're in it?"

"I was going to say with my face between your thighs, tongue in your delicious quim, but okay, I guess it's the squeaky mattress that really got me." Oakley shrugged.

"You dick!" I tickled him, fluttering my fingertips under his arms so he'd double over, centimeters away, and I'd have no choice but to kiss him again.

"Why did we never christen your room at St. Peter's anyway?"

"That place?" Oakley snorted. "A corridor full of stinky boys who'd try to snatch you away any chance they got? Listening at the door while you moaned and sighed and, my personal favorite, screamed my name?"

"Are we talking about the same dudes who practically ignored me all summer?"

"Nah, they were just intimidated by the tough talking chick from Queens."

"Aw, I feel like I should go back there and thank them." I purred.

"I wouldn't do that, not now, not when your nipples are practically cutting slashes in that flimsy excuse for a frock." Oakley's eyes ogled me approvingly.

"Who cares? They're my nipples." I smirked up at him.

Oakley face changed, and now he looked serious, loving.

"That's true. But I'm handling them for the week. And right now, I need to check them again. For firmness."

"Uh huh," I sighed as Oakley covered my breasts with his hands.

I was ready to let Oakley take me right there when I heard a cough, a throat being cleared, in the lane behind him.

Startled, I stepped out from behind Oakley to catch a man walking slowly through Pembroke Square. He flapped a street map in front of his face, walking and coughing as he made his way up the alley. Something about the way he coughed, the shape of his eyebrows, reminded me so much of my father. My father, back in Queens, the last person I wanted to come home to. The reason I was glad I wasn't going home for another nine days.

"Helen? What's wrong?" Oakley pressed his hand to the small of my back.

I knew it was him. I  _knew_ it was Oakley but I jumped at his touch anyway.

"Sorry," I said. "Thought I saw something."

Oakley regarded the tourist, following him with his eyes until the man rounded the corner and disappeared.

"You know him?"

"No. No, I don't."

"You gonna tell me what's wrong?" Oakley turned me so I faced him. "You're crying, Helen."

"It's the rain, I swear." I wiped my eyes, which burned.

"Idiot, you just wiped your eyes, which are bright red by the way."

"Busted," I whispered.

"Seriously, Helen, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is... back at home. And we're here. So let's go upstairs and get dry and fuck, or fuck and get dry, I'm not choosy." I shrugged.

"Okay. But we're going to talk about whatever just happened."

"You know that's going to cut into the sex, right?"

"Lucky for you I can fuck and talk at the same time."

"Yeah," I said ruefully. "Lucky for me."

I looked up at Oakley, reached up for him, and he bowed, pressing his lips to mine. We stood there for a minute, kissing and humming in the rain.

Oakley broke the kiss first, taking my hand in his and turning towards the gate before us.

"Lead the way, mistress."


	2. The Girl from Forest Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Angst and feels. That is to say, Helen at her worst. It's not like she's going to see Oakley again, right?

The towels are thin but they're the only ones I've got.

The sheets are rough but they're the only ones we need.

After Oakley dropped his backpack in the corner next to the cupboard, he undressed me, draping my wet dress and panties on the bedframe, propping my sneakers up by the window. He found a scarf, a cheap pashmina knockoff my mother had gotten in Chinatown, sticking out of my half-packed suitcase, and draped it over my shoulders. He rubbed my wet hair with a clean towel, humming as he worked, then tucked me into bed.

From where I lay, back up against the wall, legs folded and crossed at the ankle, I watched him undress, find places to hang up his own wet t-shirt and shorts.

"Do you even own knickers?" I wondered aloud, more to myself than to him.

That made Oakley smile.

He seemed too skinny, too lanky in this harsh gray light. He dried his hair with the same towel he used on mine, obscuring the beautiful face that I'd become so fond of.

After hanging the towel on a peg, he got into bed with me, sitting up against the head. He patted his thigh, and I scooted down so I could lay my head on it. The hair on his legs were fine and golden, soft to the touch.

I closed my eyes, and began to speak.

"Last year, my sister had a boyfriend whom she loved very much. His name was David. He lived on the Upper East Side in an apartment we got to visit when his mother wasn't home."

Oakley rested his hand on my head, using his fingers to comb the hair away from my face.

"He was her first, so she said. It wasn't very good. He played this awful song when they did it."

"What was it?"

"This old song from the 90's called 'Satisfied'. She made me listen to it over and over again."

"Why would she do that?"

"Who knows? She's my older sister. She has to do everything first, and make sure I knew when it happened."

"Do you get along?"

I sighed.

"Not really. But that's not the point. She... she told him things."

"Things like what?"

"Things like, when we were younger. Her bedroom was by itself, up front in our house. Dad would visit her late at night..." I opened my eyes even as they began to flood with tears.

"Oh god why am I telling you this now?" I sobbed. "I should be... hic... choking on your dick, letting you do everything we haven't already done this week. Which doesn't leave much." I tried to laugh.

Oakley pulled me up so he could embrace me, then pulled my legs over his lap. I sat next to him, and let him take my hands in his.

"It's like you told me in the meadow. You trust me." Oakley smiled weakly. I watched him wipe a tear from his cheek before I continued.

"She told him. She told David what used to happen. He wanted to tell somebody but she didn't want anything to happen. She just needed to tell somebody, confide in somebody."

"Did she ever try to tell you?" Oakley whispered.

I shook my head.

"No, because..."

"Oh, God. Helen." Oakley pulled me in as I began to sob.

"Yeah."

I wiped my face but it was no use. The tears kept coming.

"I already knew. I already knew because it happened to me, too." Through my tears I saw Oakley's face crumple up as he began to weep. I felt awful.

"Oh, Oakley please don't cry. I'm so sorry."

I leaned over him, grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, then pressed it onto Oakley's face.

"Blow, please."

He blew.

I chucked the t-shirt, then continued.

"It only took a month for the police to show up at our apartment. David had told his mother, who called Children's Services, and they picked us up one night. We were in foster care for a few nights before my best friend told her dad - we hadn't been permitted to go to school while this was happening, God knows how she found out what happened - and he got in front of the judge who got our case."

"What did he do?"

"Katie's dad took us in. Rather than let us hang out in a foster home where nobody spoke English or could figure out our schooling."

"What's Katie like?"

"She swears more than I do. She's teeny, barely 5'2" with massive tits and a perfect ass. I hope you guys never meet because I know you'd leave me for her."

"Doubtful."

"I don't know, she's pretty small. Great for picking up and fucking against a wall." I sang, then giggled. "That even rhymed!"

Oakley just tightened his grip around me.

"Anyway, we lived in a very quiet, very clean home in a historic neighborhood. Two cats, parakeets in the main bathroom so we all trooped into the en suite to use Katie's parents' shower."

"No!"

"Oh yes," I nodded. "The parakeets needed the room."

"Parakeets don't need  _that_ much room."

"Tell that to Katie's dad!"

"Did you stay with them long?"

"Just for the school year. It was amazing how much calmer I was living away from home. I got an allowance and a cell phone that wasn't disconnected. I shared a room with my sister, but it was bigger than my parents' living room. There was a view of the back garden."

"It sounds nice."

"It was. But I felt awful. Like, this was the prize I got for surviving, for letting my sister take the brunt of the attention we got once we got put into foster care. I wanted to feel guilty but I enjoyed it."

"Why wouldn't you enjoy being taken care of, being a kid?"

"Because I'd never felt that way. Like a kid, I guess. It felt weird and new." I shrugged.

I looked up at Oakley. He was staring ahead, into space, but looked at me when he felt me move.

"You need a break?"

Oakley shrugged.

"Do  _you_ need a break?"

I shrugged.

"You said you lived with them the school year. Was that when you decided to come here?"

"Yeah. There was money set aside for scholarships, wealthy alumni from long ago who could afford to pay for summer study. I got the one specifically for study in England."

"That's great."

"All I had to do was write the headmistress a letter. That was it, the entire application process. I just wrote her a note saying that I'd like to study in England because I loved school and, honestly, I needed to get away from home."

"That sounds pretty simple."

"But don't you get it? She knew. I manipulated her, used my sob story to get a free trip to England."

"But surely you deserved it?"

I laughed bitterly.

"I'm sure the other girls who applied for it thought so too."

"Do you want me to tell you did a bad thing?"

"No. I want you to tell me that I'm right."

"Right?" Oakley smiled. "I'm going to say yes, but only as long as you tell me what it is I'm telling you you're right about."

"That I was right to do this. I was right to come to England, to run away from home, to run off to Paris for another week. Because if I was, if I am, it means I deserve it, all of this."

Oakley started kissing me, bending down to suck at my neck. I kiss the nape of his neck, whisper into his ears.

"So now I wonder... what could I have possibly done to deserve you?"

Oakley chuckled.

"I'm pretty sure I heard that line used in  _The Sound of Music_."

"Well, there we go. I'm busted. Guilty of stealing my best moves from Julie Andrews."

Oakley wiggled down so he could lay down, tugging me with him until we were wrapped around each other.

One more night. And I had to start it off by telling Oakley how damaged and psycho I was.

"Helen?"

"Yeah?"

"My parents are divorced."

"I'm sorry."

"And my father's an asshole. Like, a real fucking asshole."

"I believe it." I kissed Oakley's chest.

"But I can't fathom, can't imagine that he'd ever, or that my mum would..." Oakley sighed.

"How?"

"How did I deal?"

Oakley nodded.

"With the, with the thing itself, it was a such a long time ago, you know? I hardly rememeber it. But sometimes I have these memories, see this images of me separating, leaving my body until it was over."

"What about after?"

"I talked to a shrink. That helped a lot. I focused on school, started looking at colleges, preparing to take the SAT. I started smoking cigarettes."

"Really?"

"I love it. But I'm not really smoking here, not in Oxford. Cigarettes are so expensive."

"Good thing you're off to France, then. They'll throw them at you as soon as the coach gets within city limits."

"Lucky me."

"Lucky you."

"The thing that was the best help, with dealing?"

"Yeah?"

"At night, I'd get up late, because the dreams were vague but so powerful. I'd have to get out of my nice warm bed at Katie's, get out, do something to stop them. I'd go out into the back garden, or further along to an old churchyard. I'd pick a spot in the grass, lie down, still in my pajamas, and look up at the stars."

I heard Oakley inhale sharply, quickly, before he pulled me on top of him, wrapped his arms around my waist, and took my lips between his for a long, hot kiss.


	3. A Flower of The Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I responded to her call, watched her sing and moan and thrash and scream, a supplicant quaking at her feet."

**Three weeks earlier.**

"Hey, Oak, who's that?"

"Huh?" I looked up to see who Ben was talking about.

The mouthful of eggs I had just been chewing while I finished the reading for History of War fell out of my mouth, bounced slightly in my lap, then fell at my feet. I looked down to make sure none of it got on my Arctic Monkeys t-shirt.

"Ew, Oakley!" Madeline got in my face, wiping my mouth and chin with a serviette. "Manners!"

"Erm, sorry." I shrugged at her.

"Walk me to class?" Madeline asked hopefully. She slid her hand down my arm, squeezing my bicep, and shot me a meaningful glance.

I avoided Ben's smirk to meet her gaze.

"Sorry, but I've got to finish this reading. Maybe lunch?"

Madeline frowned, stuck a hand on her hip.

"Oh fine. But we're not having that Nando's again. Are you  _sure_ there isn't a salad place anywhere in this town?"

I nodded.

"Nope, not since fresh vegetables were banned in 1993."

I winced when Ben kicked me under the table.

"Okay, just thought I'd ask." Madeline planted a noisy kiss on my cheek. 'Laters, babe!"

Ben waited a second after she strutted off before guffawing, covering his mouth so I'd be spared the sight of his own breakfast as he laughed at my misfortune.

"Oak, still can't believe you tapped that, and on the first night, too."

"Yeah, and she's been trying to tap it ever since." I looked down at my reading. "Sorry. I probably shouldn't say anything else."

"Whatever, dude." Ben drawled. "These chicks talk shit about us all the time."

"I guess, but if they're anything like Madeline, they're full of crap." I closed my notes, put them away. "Okay, so who were you asking about?"

"Helen, I think her name is. She's in the Facebook group the program set up before the session started. From New York. One of the many, but she's from the city. Goes to Brearley with Jennie."

"Ooh, Jennie - how's that going?"

"Okay, okay - she's awfully bossy." Ben grinned. "Much to my delight." He waggled his eyebrows, and raised his hand for a fistbump.

Laughing, I raised my fist to bump up to his.

"Helen, huh?" I looked around the room, finding her seated at a table near the buffet.

Helen had one leg bent, foot planted on her chair, with the other extended in front of her. She kept her thighs locked together so I couldn't see up her skirt, which had ridden up to to the middle of her thighs. She gripped the sides of her seat, leaning in close to hear a story being told by another girl at the table. Her eyebrows shot up, then her eyes began to sparkle. Her small, plump lips were pursed, trying desperately to hold in laughter. But then she gave in, erupting into a laugh that shook her entire body. She clutched her stomach, bending over - did she know that gave me a perfect view of her breasts shaking above her folded arms? The sound of her laugh hit my ears, set them on fire. The breasts and the laugh and her red cheeks and her black hair...

I looked down. Shit.

I was hard.

* * *

**Two weeks ago.**

"Mr. Harris?" I looked up from my notebook, where I'd been drawing things like ripe pears, peaches, bananas and little winking cucumbers. I shut my notebook before anybody saw.

Helen had a question.

"Yes, Ms. Dean, what is it now?"

"I was just thinking about our discussion of World War I, it's depiction in popular culture."

"Yes, Helen. I thought we'd continue with some films, if that was alright with you?" Mr. Harris smirked.

"Of course. May I make a suggestion?"

"If you must."

"Any chance we can watch  _War Horse_? I know we just saw the play on our day trip to London last weekend, but I think we'd learn a lot from the movie, too."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain young actor I always hear you burble about with your classmates?"

"Which actor would that be?" Helen played innocent.

"A Tom Hiddleston, is that his name?"

Helen looked bashful.

"Oh, is he in that? I didn't know." Helen cleared her throat. "No, I just thought it would be nice to get a better picture of the hardship of war from the animal's point of view."

"Well, alright, but you'll have to locate the movie yourself."

"Of course, sir." Helen purred.

Shit.

I looked down.

I was hard again. Damn that voice.

When I looked up, Helen was getting up with the rest of the class now that it was over. She looked over, caught my eye. She smiled, tentatively, then gave a little wave before walking out the door.

* * *

**Four nights ago.**

"You sure you don't want to join us? We're just heading out for a pint." Susanna grinned at me, the rest of the gang making their way down the lane.

"Nah. I can't find my ID anyway. Think I may stick around here."

"It's awfully hot, Oakley. You can still get a coke - the pub should have some kind of cold air for you to sit in, surely."

"Thanks, Sue, but I'll just make my way back to my room. Have fun, and be careful! I think I heard Ben say something about snogging you before the month is through."

"Really? Interesting. I'll bear that in mind." Susanna pecked my cheek, then ran off to join the party.

I found myself standing on the quad at Pembroke. Dinner was long over, but curfew was hours away.

I shuffled down the gravel path, enjoying the crunch under my feet, when I heard it. I heard her.

A small voice, sweet, humming from somewhere in the middle of the lawn.

It was dark, so I moved closer to see. A figure, lying on the ground, one arm held aloft, the hand pointing and moving slowly.

Helen.

Her legs were folded, flat to the ground, her lap unknowingly inviting me to draw nearer. I wanted to slip my hands between her thighs, feel her move under my hands, rest my head against her stomach. But that would be wrong.

"Helen?" I whispered.

She didn't hear me, still focused on the sky over our heads.

Fuck it. I took a spot next to her shoulder and claimed it by sitting down with a hard thump.

"Wotcher, Helen!"

Who says that? Why did I say that?

"Oh. Huh, hi Oakley." Helen sounded unsure, stuttering.

I found the stuttering irresistible, but I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.

I reached over and grasped her wrist, her soft wrist, between my fingers. Slowly, I pulled her hand towards me, relishing its smallness and its warmth, before bringing it to rest in mine.

* * *

**Three nights ago.**

A Helen-less day. What bullshit. Madeline is a cunt and why can't I find Helen?

I did what I always do when I'm upset.

I texted my mum.

> mum... why are girls the way they are
> 
> _Thomas, what's wrong?_
> 
> nothing
> 
> _You can't say nothing after you ask me a question like that._
> 
> _..._
> 
> _Thomas, are you alright? It's just three days and you'll be home again._
> 
> yes. i know.
> 
> _I'm making your favorite supper when you come back._
> 
> thx
> 
> _My pleasure. And Thomas... whoever she is... I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. Just make sure you're around to listen, okay?_
> 
> yes mum
> 
> _love you_
> 
> yeah

Ben dragged me out to The Three Graces for a pint and live karaoke.

"Live karaoke? Are you mad?" I grimaced at him as we made our way through the door.

"Oh, I don't know, Oak. You may like this." Ben looked up, scanned the crowd. "Oooh, there's Kat. Later, mate!" He crowed, then ran off.

I grabbed a pint, not paying attention to the band as they introduced the first singer. And then I heard my name.

"This is for Oakley. Oak, I'm sorry."

I looked up to find Helen onstage, wearing a tight top and a skirt that showed off her thighs. Her lips pursed, she looked ready to swallow the microphone.

And then she began to sing.

I didn't recognize the song but the words went right through me. Hips and thighs and oh god I wanted to bury my face in her cunt right there in the bar in front of everybody.

I responded to her call, watched her sing and moan and thrash and scream, a supplicant quaking at her feet.

I saw a bead of liquid, sweat maybe or god please let it be the juices from her pussy, inch down her leg. I wanted to capture it in my now empty pint glass and drink it up.

* * *

**Two nights ago.**

Helen was asleep, after an afternoon of sex and feelings and pot and yes, I managed to get my finger in her ass.

Her response was promising.

I wanted more time with her.

That sounded wrong. Like I'm obsessed with fucking her in the ass.

Well, now I definitely want to do that, but there were were other things. I found my notebook in my pocket, grabbed a pen off Helen's nightstand, and made notes.

_She's always warm, almost hot to the touch._

_She snores._

_Her nipples are dark, like mine, but they look like little milk chocolate peaks._

_Mum would love her, Dad would definitely hate her._

_Badge would want to know where she buys her dresses._

_She doesn't have the stereotypical "Noo Yawk" accent but she talks fast like a proper New Yorker._

_Her mouth is small. Her pussy is tight. I sometimes wonder if I might hurt her but she never seems to be in pain when we do it._

_She hasn't worn a bra since the night on the lawn._

_She always smells good. And she always tastes better than she smells._

* * *

"Oh my. Please. Just.. yes. Goodness. That's nice. Yes. Mmmm. Oakley. Yes. Come here. Please."

Helen's voice was barely a whisper, urging me onward. Her eyes were closed, but not squeezed tight - I could see her eyelashes flutter ever so often. She looked relaxed, so different from the tense, frail girl who had confided in me earlier.

I lay next to her, on my side, my head propped up under one bent arm. My free hand was buried between Helen's legs, working in her juicy folds with a couple of fingers while my thumb massaged her throbbing clit.

I kissed her cheek gently, but said nothing.

"Oakley, please. Just... can you just..." Helen breathed. "I just want... I want you inside me."

"Soon," I promised. "Very soon."

I kissed her cheek again, continuing to pleasure her with my hand.

My dick was hard, always hard for Helen, really. Ready to go, it pressed up against Helen's thigh, which began to twitch.

"I can feel you. I know you want..." Helen arched her back, responding to the finger I curled inside her, tickling that little spongey bit. "Oh fuck."

I withdrew my hand, brushing my fingers against her clit slowly as I did.

"Shit!"

I stuck my fingers in my mouth, sucking them clean. I straddled Helen, lying down so that my whole weight was on top of her. She groaned, then shook her head when I tried to lift myself up.

"No. Please. Stay like that. I want to feel you."

She wrapped her legs around me, tight, so I could stay put. Safe.

My full weight on her, I pressed my cock up, angling it and wiggling it until it found her entrance. I slid inside her, bending my knees slightly so I could begin a steady rhythm, pumping into her slowly.

She squeezed my ass, digging the nails in, trying to get me to move faster and harder.

I shook my head.

"Slow now, fast later."

I kissed her temple, continuing to move inside her. Every time I felt her clench around me, I would stop, which was torture, but I didn't want her to come. Not yet. Not until I had more time to take her in and make notes in my head of the way she feels when she's underneath me. Compare it to the feeling of her when she's on top, writhing and riding and laughing like I'm her favorite toy. Listen to her breathe and sigh, whimper my name.

The sound of her saying my name is my favorite sound in the world.

Finally I gave in to her, pumping faster into her tight heat. I took pleasure in the sound of my cock moving faster and faster, the wet smacking sounds of my flesh pounding into hers.

"Oh baby," Helen moaned. "You feel so good. Faster." I felt her slip a hand between us, to touch her clit, just as I felt her cunt tighten around me. She was close, and I was closer.

I looked at her face - her eyes were still closed and her lips were open and twitching, her tongue darting to lick them, or was it looking for mine to taste to suckle and to touch.

I moved my hands to the nape of her neck, pulling her in for a deep, long kiss, sucking hard on her tongue as my hips moved faster, fucking and fucking and fucking and oh my god was she already coming her pussy hot and wet around me and clenching milking my dick which was so hard almost too hard and an ache in my back with my knees on rough sheets so I could piston I could rocket I could keep going stroking and fucking listening to her weep with relief as she clenched and tightened again and again and again until she wasn't and I shivered as I came as I spilled hot wet cum inside of her I felt it leak out of her but I stayed in and I moved my hands to her tits to her heart wrapped around her waist kissed her neck and murmured that I was hers I was hers I was hers.


End file.
